Resident Evil: Depredation
by hacknslash
Summary: On the trail to stop a deadly virus from turning the inhabitants of Raccoon City into mindless zombies, John Tessman and a group of cops must work together to stop Umbrella's evil creation.
1. Prologue

_Authors Note: Okay, this is my third time rewriting this story, but it's a totally different storyline, this time. I realize that I've been approaching it the wrong way. This is the prologue. Let us journey back to Raccoon City once more. Rated M for intense violence, pervasive language, and adult situations. Although most of the characters in this story are original, there are some who are from the original Resident Evil series. I do not own those such characters in any way, nor will I ever. Enjoy the show._

**PROLOGUE**

8:16 AM, May 16th, 1996

The alarm clock buzzed and hollered, breaking the semi silence of the dark apartment room. Groans punctuated the loud, obnoxious noise, which quickly grew angry as it persisted. A hand reached out from under a pile of bed sheets thrown together in a heap, and punched the alarm clock off the bedside cabinet. The clock flew off the cabinet and smashed onto the floor, the lens cracking. That was the only sound to wake John Tessman up in the mornings.

John reluctantly moved the sheets off of his head, and gazed at the broken clock. He held the gaze for a second, then said "eh, I'll fix it later."

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and got up, scratching his head. His brown hair was matted to his head, and he rubbed it profusely. He yanked on a T Shirt, and jeans, then walked over to the window, and drew the shade up.

Light from the sun shining above Raccoon City spilled into the room like wildfire spreading across dry wood. He blinked in a haze, trying to come to terms with the light. John rubbed his eyes again, clearing them a bit, and opened up the window completely.

The confusing jumble of noises from the polluted city was a bit stunning first thing in the morning, but it sure jolted him out of his stupor. Gunshots in the distance, dogs barking, men and women screaming, and the loud honks of cars jamming the streets. He grinned at the noise, it was his own personal sedative.

John quickly did his normal routine. He middle – fingered the city from the window, and screamed "FUCK YOU!" for no reason whatsoever. He smiled to himself as hundreds of people below looked up at him without a shred of enthusiasm, since he did the same thing every morning. Some people just laughed and shook their heads, not even looking up. John strode away from the window and grabbed his cell phone off of his desk. He pressed speed dial, and put it up to his ear, waiting. While he waited, he paced around the room, smiling to himself, thinking, _another day in Raccoon, another day busting more bastards and canning the worst._

A click sounded in his ear, and John heard the most welcome noise since he had woken up … Claire's voice. "Hello?" she said.

"Hey, baby," John replied, sitting down on his bed with a sigh. "How are you?"

He heard Claire groaning similarly to how he had groaned, and she said "tired, but otherwise just peachy. And you?"

"Ah, never better. Damn, I love this city," John chuckled. Claire laughed – she was used to his attitude in the morning. He was always looking forward to the day. Always loving his job as a cop.

"So what's new?" John asked. "Have you seen anything different about –"

"No, no," Claire said hastily. "Look honey, you cant talk about it on the phone, someone might have tapped the line, we cant take that chance."

John waited patiently. Claire said "what I have discovered about _the thing you're talking about, _there isn't really anything to tell. Its still in the jar, but I took a few samples out and looked at them through my telescope. I tell you, I have never seen anything like it, John."

He sensed uncertainty in her voice, and tried to calm her down. "Hey, hey, don't worry. As long as it stays in the jar and doesn't spread, then there's nothing to be worried about. I'm gonna come over today after my shift to check up on you, okay?"

"Okay," she said, and he heard her voice returning to normal, but it still quavered. "But I don't get it … why would anyone just leave something like this in an alleyway?"

"We'll talk about it when I come over tonight, okay?" said John.

"Alright," said Claire, and John could sense a smile in her voice. "Be careful out there. Bust some fuckers for me."

"Heh … I will, baby. Love you."

"Love you too."

A click resounded through the receiver, and John pushed end.

He got up from the bed, thinking hard to himself. _We shouldn't be keeping a virus around … its far too risky. If it spreads, it will be our fault for not destroying it. And …what if it's the virus from those years ago?_

That horrible thought was more than he could bare. A breakout in Raccoon City _again? _He could not let that happen. So he decided to tell Claire to destroy it when he got to her apartment after work that day. With that thought in mind, he tossed on a coat, holstered his pistol, slammed his window shut, and strode out of his room, his mind racing furiously.


	2. A Broken Jar

_AN: Pulp. Pure pulp. There is no other way to describe a story of this magnitude. Pulp is fun to write, but hard, too. For within pulp, you also need a storyline to weave in. Without a strong plot, pulp is nothing. Well, I've got a storyline, and the pulp is prepared. Enjoy this RE fiction, in all its pulpy goodness. Apologies for the shortness of the previous chapter._

_I do not own the Resident Evil series, or its characters in any way at all. Contains pervasive strong violence and language, and adult situations. Rated M._

Resident Evil: Depredation

Chapter one: A Broken Jar

John hit the streets of Raccoon City with a cocky stride. The wet stones under his feet sloshed as he made his way across the busy road. Cars honked and hollered at the cop as he walked right in front of them, sending them to a screeching halt, but he just fingered them and kept on his way.

As he walked onto the opposite sidewalk and down toward the PD, he noticed a black man beating the living crap out of another man. The black man was completely bald, and he was kneeling on the ground, socking out the other guy with a bloody fist. John stopped, and tapped the black man on the shoulder.

"What the fuck do you –" began the guy, then he saw who it was, and said "Johnny boy! Where've you been? Isn't it kind of late?"

"Not at all, I slept in this morning. Who's this shithead, here?" John asked, gesturing at the man who's face was splattered with blood and heavily bruised by his fist.

"This scum sucking little shit's been stalkin' my girlfriend! I found him a few hours ago."

John laughed, and walked over to the pitiful, crumpled heap that way laying on the sidewalk, groaning in pain. "Have you been stalking his girlfriend?" questioned John. The man looked up at him with two puffy, black eyes and said "fuck off, you prick, this don't concern you."

John just smiled, then kicked him in the stomach. The man coughed up blood, and moaned louder.

"Here, help me out, will ya?" said the black man, tossing John a metal pipe. He nodded, and both men starting pounding on the piece of trash as hard as they could. After several minutes, when the ground around them was splattered in blood, and the man was crying, the black man said "damn, you are one bad cop, you know that?"

"I don't give a shit, Ayden!" laughed John, tossing the pipe back to him. "you know I've always been like this. All these stalking fucks need to be taught a lesson. Hey, asshole!"

The battered man looked up at John, his teeth stained with his own blood.

"Take a run home, why don't you. And if I ever catch you stalking anyone again, you're gonna wake up without a dick."

The man tried getting up, but fell flat on his face. He stumbled to his feet, and staggered off down a nearby alleyway, screaming angrily. John shook his head, and turned back to Ayden.

"This is what I do," he said with a shrug. Ayden grinned, and pulled out a magnum from his belt. He aimed it at the guy running away from them down a dirty alley between the two buildings, and shot him in the leg. The bastard cried out in pain and he collapsed against the wall to his right, breathing hard. Ayden pocketed the magnum, and turned back to John. "And it's what I do," he replied.

John smiled devilishly, and said "I could have your ass thrown in jail for shootin' someone, ya know that?"

Ayden just shook his head, laughing. "Uh huh. Cops are always people to get on my ass. Not you, man!" He clapped John on the shoulder, and John did the same.

"You'll always be my favorite criminal," said John. "I gotta get my own ass over to the PD though, before the captain gets pissed. I'll catch you later."

As John walked away down the street, wiping droplets of blood off his arms, he heard Ayden calling after him "I'm whoopin' yo ass tonight, motherfucker!"

John grinned to himself. He stuck up his middle finger over his shoulder, and kept walking. Several people around him shook their heads in disapproval, but he didn't care. He just ignored them, as he always did.

It was less than twenty minutes later that John was sitting in the passengers seat of an old ford with the large words **POLICE **decaled on both sides. His partner Steve was driving it full speed out of the RCPD and onto the hard black streets of Raccoon. The police lights were flashing from the top of the car, and the high pitched wail was echoing across the building walls loudly, warning drivers in front of them to get the hell out of the way.

"Can you drive this thing?" questioned John. Steve brushed his curly blond hair out of his eyes and grinned devilishly at him.

"You kidding? If we're going to beat the shit out of someone, I can drive anything."

John watched as people flattened themselves up against the building walls fearfully, the Police cars were known to swerve off the road when they were in a hurry, and run over people. The cars in front of them cleared to the side, and Steve floored the car to the max. They shot down the road at high speeds, and he yanked the emergency break, expertly turning the steering wheel coolly. The car screeched as it turned to the right, and drove down Granada Ave.

"Where is the place?" asked John. "All I know is its on this street somewhere."

"Uhmmm …" began Steve, " … rrrright there."

On the left side of the street right before a right hand turn onto Jeremiah Street was a short, gray building made of oddly misshapen bricks of varying sizes. There were blood stains on the top windows, and a colt was sticking out from under the sill, firing multiple shots at people running in all directions on the opposite side of the street.

"Jesus fuck!" said Steve as he slammed on the brake. Five shots rattled off the hood and flew into more buildings to the side of them. "Get out of the god damn car!"

The two cops pushed out of the drivers door and crouched behind the motionless car, cocking their own pistols threateningly. Distant gunshots were fired again, and the street just beside them unprotected by the car cover was punctured by the flying lead.

"Wait for the reload," said Steve very quietly in John's ear. The bullets rattled onto the street again three more times, then went silent. They waited one more second …

"Go! Go! GO!" shouted John, giving Steve a shove in the back. They rushed out from behind the car and sprinted full out across the street to the base of the building, putting their backs against the dirty wall. They glared up at the window, and saw the barrel poke out again.

After a split second, more bullets fired at random.

"God damn son of a bitch …" growled Steve. "Through the front door, it's the only way."

They moved along the wall, past several cracked windows, the tendrils icing up to the very top. Blood was caked on the inside.

"Door," said John. Steve clutched his gun in both hands, and kicked the door in, making a dry cracking sound as it gave away to the back of his sole. Light spilled into the dusty building room. It looked like it hadn't been touched in years, a fine layer of dust was coated everywhere. There were three bodies piled up in a corner, lying in a pool of blood. They deduced that they were where the gore on the windows was from. They all had bullet holes rimed with dark blood through their chests. Multiple holes. The smell was corrosive and disgusting, but the two cops ignored the horrid site and walked further into the building, their guns up.

"Should we make a lot of noise or play it stealthy?" whispered Steve to John as they walked back to back past the bodies toward a door that most likely led up to the level where the culprit was shooting from the window.

"What the hell do you think we're doing right now?" said John in response. Steve said no more, only nodded. "Well then the door kick probably wasn't a good idea," he said.

John grasped the rusted door handle and yanked it hard. The door creaked open, revealing three flights of stairs. "Jackpot. We got him, baby," he said to Steve, who was still looking at the bodies with a grimace.

Up the stairs they went, forcing their footsteps quiet in the layer of dust. They saw other footprints leading up as well … their guess was they were the criminals. Good guess. Didn't make things any easier.

The door at the top of the third landing was ajar, and unmoving. It led to a hallway which was about ten feet long and extremely cramped in width. They stared down the dirty hallway, and saw the window where the man had been shooting at them from. Nobody appeared to be in the room, but one side of the room they couldn't see, and since there were no other rooms in the building, they guessed that he was hiding right beside the door in wait.

Side by side, both cops hurried down the hall, and were about to aim their pistols into the doorway, when a hand flashed out, a heavily ringed hand that had hairy knuckles and dark skin. It seized Steve by the collar and yanked him into the room. Steve, always one to think quick, tossed his gun up as the hand yanked him into the room, and John caught it in his free hand. He slammed his back up against the wall, knowing he was probably only two feet from the piece of shit who was trying to kill the inhabitants of Raccoon City. A mindless murderer. No surprise, but nothing different than a normal days work.

Steve felt the cold barrel of a colt press up against his temple roughly, and the click of a hammer snap him to attention. There was an unpleasantly hairy arm wrapped around his throat. He smiled wryly, and looked up into the face of his nabber. The culprit wore a drooped fisherman's hat that fell over his eyes. He looked to have a fat, droopy face like a bloodhound, with scraggly brown hair. His mouth was curved in a frown, and he had yellow teeth. Steve had to stop himself from laughing. A classic villain.

"How's it hangin' you sack 'a shit?" grinned Steve. The fisherman shook him, which clearly told him to shut the fuck up. The gun pressed harder to his head.

"Looks to me like we've got ourselves a situation," said John calmly to the fisherman shooter. "And it looks like there's a very simple way to resolve it. Either hand over Steve, or I'll pump your eyes and mouth full of lead."

"You ain't gonna shoot you cop fuck," yelled the fisherman. "You ain't lettin' this son of a bitch partner of yours die! I got 'im, now you gotta listen to me!" His voice was scratchy and annoying to listen to.

"The hell d'you mean, dickweed? Give me back the cop or I'll blow your fuckin' head off! It's as simple as that!" yelled John back.

"Man, John, you gotta be so combative?" whined Steve in a mock worried voice. "He might actually be serious."

The fisherman grew angry that nobody was taking him seriously, and he shook Steve harder. Steve just laughed.

"A bullet in your head will really make it hard to fuck your husband tonight!" said John, trying not to let his smile sound in his voice. He fired a round into the room as a warning, which put a hole in the dirty window that the fisherman had been shooting out of.

"I'm gonna kill this piece of trash!" yelled the fisherman seriously, jostling Steve roughly. "He's gonna have his face blown wide open before you can take one step into here!"

"A little reminder honey," said Steve, "you have the gun pointed at the side of my head, not my face. Although if you think my ear is an eye, then by all means, why don't you look at both walls and tell me which is dirtier."

"_Fuck off!" _screamed the guy in pure rage. "I'm not playing games here! Drop the gun, you piece 'a shit cop!"

"Shoot my partner, see what I do!" screamed John. He fired two shots into the room. "Blow his fuckin' head off! I'll splatter your shit everywhere across this building, and your husband will have to stand trial for you killin' a cop."

"**I don't have a husband**!" roared the fisherman.

"Your damn right. If you shoot Steve you won't even have a life, asshat."

"I got a gun to your partners head," laughed the fisherman with a touch of insanity ringing in his voice. "And you're gonna watch his brains fly everywhere when I pop a shot through his face."

"Head," corrected Steve again.

"SHUT UP!" screamed the fisherman. "The point is I got a gun and this gun has a bullet, and guess who's gonna get it!"

"You are," muttered Steve calmly. Before the fisherman knew what was happening, Steve twisted his arm around, punched the elbow up, snapping it completely, and kicked him down, taking the colt from him easily. The fisherman was strangely resilient, however. He threw a fist into Steve's stomach before he could shoot, and ran past him. John dove forward into the room, and fired two shots. Impossibly, both missed by the width of a wire, and hit the walls on both sides of the running culprit. Before the two cops could realize what he was about to do, the fisherman launched himself into the air and crashed out of the window, shattering it to pieces. They ran to the destroyed window and watched him sail downwards, and roll to break his fall. Somehow he was still alive with a broken arm and weak legs from his fall.

"Come on, he's goin' for a car!" said Steve. The two cops sprinted from the room, and down through the building, bursting out the front door. They saw the fisherman jumping through the window of his car and starting up the engine about twenty feet away.

"COME ON!" shouted John, pulling Steve over to their car. They got inside quickly, and as Steve started it up quickly, John spoke into the radio beside his seat, "culprit driving black suburban, headed down Granada Ave, turning now onto Jeremiah Street."

Steve yanked the clutch and floored it after the fleeing fisherman's black car.

They sailed incredibly fast down Jeremiah Street with the cop lights blaring and the siren wailing. It only took a few minutes for the chopper to appear above them, and shine the lights down on the fisherman's car. John loaded a fresh clip into his pistol and cocked it. "I'm shootin'," he announced, then unrolled his window and aimed his pistol out into the wind.

Firing bullets fast isn't a good idea. Throwing them away like trash will get you nowhere unless you have a perfect shot and want that person to be turned into a flapjack. Take time, aim straight. _"Look the Devil in the eye." _Those words from the movie Sin City flashed through John's mind as he looked down the barrel. He dimly saw the back of the fisherman's head, and lined up the shot expertly, keeping his arm stiff. The fisherman was shooting bullets out of his car at random citizens.

_Look the Devil in the eye. Take your time …_

He shot.

The bullet whizzed through the air, and crashed through the back window, sailing right into the back of the fisherman's head. He jerked forward, blood and brains splattered the windshield. The car swerved and rammed into a building, flipping violently down the sidewalk. Pedestrians dove out of the way, screaming in utter terror as the rampaging car emptied the last of its will into the final flips.

It slid to a halt on the sidewalk, making a loud screeching sound that sent up sparks on all sides, now nothing more than a pile of steaming, bloodstained metal with mushed up human bones and bowels inside.

Frantic whispers echoed through the radio as Steve rode up alongside the complete wreckage. He gazed, wide eyed at the massive junk heap, and gasped out one final, profound, "nice shot, baby."

Claire Redfield stared through her tiny spectacles and a microscope at a tiny parasite, bright green and wriggling at 100K zoomed in. It was miniscule, smaller than any virus she had ever seen, and more bizarre, too. And she had it clasped between two pieces of glass. She had studied its genetic structure, and found nothing but the most powerful virus she had ever seen. And yet it seemed so simple … and invisible menace. If ever it were released … well, she preferred not to think about it. Her brown hair was hanging down over the sides of her face like a curtain, averting her gaze from anything else in her lab apart from the microscope. She watched the virus wriggle again, its tiny tail fluttering. A smile tugged at her lips, despite the fact that it was a complete menace to humankind.

A knock startled her, and she leapt up, hurriedly sliding the case containing the small virus off of the microscope. "C-come in!" she stuttered. The door to her lab opened, and in walked John. She smiled in relief, and gently set the virus case back on the slide.

"Hey baby," he said, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her close. "I like you with glasses on." She laughed, and they kissed.

When they broke apart, she said "I've been looking more into it, but I still don't see anything different, aside from complete parasitic sickness packed into every single molecule," she informed him. He stood next to her, holding her hand, and asked "what about its activity? Anything new or different, or unusual?"

"Yes," she replied with a slight frown. "It seems sort of … restless. Like it wants to get free. I don't think it likes being trapped.

"Claire, honey," John said gently, "you're talking about a virus … having feelings."

She chuckled as she realized that he was right. She shook her head, and looked up at her boyfriend lovingly. "Well maybe I'm just feeling a bit intimidated. It looks powerful."

"_You're_ powerful," he said reassuringly. "and incredibly smart, and beautiful, and sexy, and I think that you can outsmart it. It looks like we're in no danger as long as its trapped."

Claire took the case off of the slide, shut the microscope light off, and set it back in the jar on the table, screwing the cap shut tightly. "I believe you," she said. "I think we're safe for the moment."

She pulled John close to her, and rubbed his arms comfortingly. They leaned in close, and locked lips again. They stood there, kissing quietly, and eventually it morphed into open mouth. She slid her hands up his back and grasped his shoulders, giggling as he picked her up off the floor very slightly.

They continued kissing passionately, and slowly moved toward the table with the jar containing the virus on it, not noticing where they were going. They were too immersed in each others tongues to care.

And that's when it happened. The first step in the cycle of horror that would begin the nightmare, the terror, the pure horror. And all it took, was a simple bump against the table.

The jar rattled, and slowly tipped, as though tentative. It fell onto its side, rolled off the table, and smashed open on the floor next to Claire and John's feet. They broke apart, still holding each other, and looked down.

The case that the virus was in had slipped apart.

"SHIT!" yelled John, diving away from the jar, and picking Claire up in his arms. He rushed out of the door, and pulled it shut behind him. They stood in Claire's kitchen, staring at the door in horror.

"Get something to cover up the floor opening," cried Claire desperately. John seized a nearby chair and set it down over the crack between the bottom of the door and the floor.

"Fuck," whispered John, running his hands through his hair. "It's loose. We have it contained in that room for now. We gotta go get some medical people to clean it up, or it will spread through Raccoon City!"

Claire was charged up with adrenaline like John, and though she was extremely worried also, she was still slightly disappointed that they had to stop making out. It had looked to her like a night full of passionate love making.

"Lets go over to your place," she said desperately. "I gotta collect myself."

"No problem, I do too," said John. He put his arms around her, hugging her tightly. They both walked out of the apartment, shutting the door behind them, breathing hard.

They were too flustered to notice, however, that the door remained unlocked.

John emptied a bucket of water over Claire's naked body in a desperate attempt to clean her. She brushed her hair out of her eyes, and scrubbed herself profusely in front of the bathroom mirror with a bar of soap. John had already finished cleaning himself, and was now pulling his clothes on in front of her.

"Do you think it spread before we got the door closed?" she asked as she rubbed the soap over her shoulders.

"Damn, I hope not," whispered John, pulling jeans on and grabbing a fresh shirt from a chair behind him. They had already put their other clothes in the washing machine. "I think we have a good chance of getting it in there before it got out, though. We just need to get someone to help us out with it –"

The phone rang. Claire turned to look at it. For some reason, it jolted them both. John picked it up, and pressed talk. "Hello?" he said tentatively.

"Hey, is this John?" asked the voice. He recognized it. It was Timothy Sanber, Claire's boss. He had forgotten that he was coming over to Claire's tonight to talk about scientific mumbo jumbo that John didn't understand.

"Yeah, its me. Hi, Tim," he said. Claire said "oh," softly, and went back to scrubbing her lower regions. "She came over here … uh, to talk."

"Oh, I see …" said Tim. "I don't suppose you could tell me why there was a chair in front of her lab door?"

John froze in fear. His eyes went wide, and he stared at Claire. She suddenly stopped cleaning herself, and looked at him back, not liking his stare.

"Uh, no, I don't know why …" responded John slowly. "Why … did you go in there!"

"Yeah, of course! There was a broken jar on the floor and everything! Did Claire accidentally knock something over?"

Panic flashed through John like nothing he had ever felt before while working for the RCPD. He suddenly shouted "did you touch the jar!"

"Yes! I picked it up to look at it! What the fuck is going on?" said Tim impatiently. "I'm on the way over in my car!"

"No, listen to me! Tim, you gotta get to your house and clean yourself off! You have to –"

There was a sudden choking noise. Tim suddenly stopped talking. It sounded as if he was gagging on something.

"Tim? TIM!" yelled John, his hands shaking in fear. "Tim, are you there?"

"Help me … I can't breathe …" Tim choked out in a raspy whisper. There was a screeching, as if someone had made a sharp turn, a smash of metal and the sound of shattering glass, and the phone went dead.

The dial tone buzzed in the cops ear.

John pressed end, and dropped the phone, falling into a chair with his hands on his head. Claire rushed over to him and cradled him. "Baby, what's wrong?" she said in fear.

"Tim …" whispered John, his eyes wild with terror. "He's been infected."


	3. On The Hunt

Chapter two: On the Hunt

_10:27 PM, May 17th, 1996_

_Virus continues to run rampant across Raccoon City … mysterious plague continues to sweep across the city of Raccoon … possible evacuation may be required for all inhabitants of the city … hundreds dying each passing day …_

The articles and headlines kept flashing out at John as he swept a hand over the pile of newspapers. He was sitting on the floor in the middle of his apartment, with the shades drawn, the lights out, and a flashlight pointed down at the papers. His hair hung over his eyes, and he was raptly staring down at all of the newspapers with lines of frustration and worry creasing his face. Claire crouched down beside him, put her small arms around him and rubbed his back comfortingly.

"Still the same?" she asked in a small voice. He wordlessly nodded. She gave him a kiss on the cheek, which seemed to bring him out of his state. He looked up at her, his eyes full of concern.

"It's my fault," John said. "It's all my fault. If I hadn't kissed you …"

"Don't blame it on yourself, baby," she said soothingly, "it was as much my fault as yours. I kissed you right back. And I loved every second of it. It was an accident, nothing more."

"Do you think Raccoon City will have to evacuate before they find a cure?" whispered John. She shrugged.

"Not much we can do if they don't find a cure," Claire pointed out. "But we gotta stay hopeful. And out of the virus's way."

"We've been in here for three days," said John with a slight wince. "We'll run out of food eventually. We've fucked six times already, and that's basically about all we can do in here."

"So you're saying that we should go after the virus? That's impossible; it's already spread too far! And we don't even know the side effects yet! It looked pretty damn powerful, yes, but I wasn't able to analyze its true capability. Now my mistake could be the downfall of Raccoon City."

"A mistake? All that research you did is more than anybody else would have done. You were the best person to look at it. So you didn't figure out what it did, you discovered it before some dirty bum found it out on the street and purposefully released it. At least this way it prolonged it … slightly."

"You're probably right," Claire said. "But it doesn't make me feel any better."

John pulled her close and kissed her, putting all of his care and feeling into that kiss. The flashlight flickered on their cheeks as they closed their eyes. John felt her sigh and fall into his arms. He knew she was exhausted, and wanted to comfort her as best as he could. He figured this was the best way.

They pulled apart, but their faces remained close together. "I hope that made you feel just a little better."

She smiled, and put her head on his shoulder. As he held her there, listening to her breathing, he thought of their possible courses of action. They had three choices: either they could stay in the apartment until they ran out of food, leave Raccoon City and seek help, or investigate the goings-on of Raccoon at the moment. He knew even before Claire lifted her head up which one of those things he was going to have to do, and he was weary when he looked down at her to tell her.

"I have to go and investigate," he said without delay. He tried to ignore her crestfallen face as he said this, and continued. "There might still be cops out there caught up in the outbreak, and if that's true, then I have to help them. And I have to look at the symptoms and figure out just what is happening to the citizens. We can't stay in the dark. I have to go … now."

"Now?" she cried with dismay. "John, don't, please! I'm begging you! I don't want you to get caught up in the outbreak, too!"

He got to his feet, and she jumped up with him, a fierce look of determination on her face, all signs of sadness and grief swept away in that single second.

"If you're going, then goddamn it, I'm going too."

"No."

"Don't even try to keep me here, baby. I refuse to stay here and play victim. You know that I'm a registered cop, too."

"But you haven't even seen action for two years," began John, but Claire cut him off.

"It doesn't matter! I haven't forgotten any of my skills or teachings. And besides, if there's anyone you want to give the virus symptoms to, its me. I'm coming with you, and you aren't stopping me."

John had to force back a smile at her pure determination. He nodded, and said "okay. But get a few guns, too."

"Of course, of course."

They both took several guns from John's kitchen cabinet, stuffing them into their belts and inside coat pockets. When they each had at least five pistols each, they slung two clip holsters over their chests, ready for action. He had to help Claire get hers on over her chest, but for the rest, she knew just what she was doing, loading the guns and setting them to safety while holstered.

"Are you ready to do this?" John asked her sincerely, drawing her close to him again, pressing her warmth to his chest. "This is a real virus, nothing we've ever seen before. I may not even be ready for this."

Claire said "no, I don't think anybody is ready for this. But I'm as prepared as I'm gonna get."

"Right, then lets go."

Police Chief Hobbes walked down the barricade of police cars and SWAT trucks, checking for a single break in the formation. He ran his hand along the smooth, cold metal of the outer interior automobiles, and found not a single space. Satisfied, he withdrew his hand, and went over to Tony Bondence, a new recruit for the RCPD.

"How ya holdin' up, kid?" asked Hobbes in the friendliest tone he could muster with his intimidating appearance and strong, low voice. To most officers of Raccoon City, he was their teacher, the one they all looked up to and hoped they could be like when they eventually got promoted. If that. Hobbes was a nice guy on the inside, but if need be, he could show no mercy whatsoever if the time arose. Which was why he was the chief, and why he was running the units of cops that night. The new recruit – Tony – looked up with fright at the monstrous chief, but his voice was steady and controlled.

"Fine, thank you sir," he replied. Hobbes nodded, and turned, walking back down toward the other side of the barrack. The police were everywhere around the blockade, some sitting, some standing, some walking around like Hobbes, and others talking to each other. Nobody really knew what was happening – all they knew that there were reports of civilian unrest north of the blockade, and they needed to have the cars blocking the streets at all times to prevent any rebels. There were at least four more barracks lined up on different streets close by.

"Think this has anything to do with that 'virus' thing?" asked one cop to another. His name was Robin Antino, a member of the RCPD for five years running. The cop he was talking to was his best friend, Taz Raleigh, a member for three years.

"Whatever the fuck it is, it means that we ain't goin' nowhere until mornin'," snorted Taz. Robin nodded with a smirk on his face. He didn't care much about the hours since he didn't have anything better to do, but he was curious as to why they had to set up the blockades anyway.

Hours passed with not a single change in circumstances. No infected civilians from the north showed up behind the barracks, and reports from the other blockades said the same exact thing over and over –– _no, nothing has happened so stop fucking calling us over these goddamn radios!_

It was nearly one in the morning when two people ambled up to the blockade through an alleyway. They had pistols in their hands, but had no RCPD wear on them. Chief Hobbes was the first one to spot them, and he drew out his own pistol, aiming it threateningly at both of them. One was a woman, the other a man. They showed no signs of hostility, but with the headline articles going up everywhere for the past three days, the police were ready to shoot anything that came near them that could possibly be infected.

"Who the fuck are you! State your names or get ready to taste lead!" threatened Hobbes. More cops turned, and seeing them, aimed up their own guns.

"Relax assholes, RCPD." Claire and John both flipped out their badges beside each other. Hobbes lowered his pistol. "I'm John Tessman and this is Claire Redfield."

"Ah, yes sir, you killed the fisherman bandit three days ago," said Hobbes, lowering his gun to shake John's hand. All the others lowered their guns as well and went back to talking in a bored tone. "I heard all about it … quite a show."

"Is Steve Sanchez here, do you know?" questioned John. Hobbes nodded, and pointed a finger toward the far end of the blockade.

"Over there, been snoozin' for the past hour. Nobody gives a shit, course, nothin's happenin' here."

"Why is there a blockade set up here?" asked Claire.

"We ain't the only one; there are a few others couple streets over. There've been reports of civilian unrest just north 'a here …"

"It's the virus," said John at once. "Thank god it hasn't hit here yet!"

"Well if you're right, we won't be safe for long. The unrest is headin' this way," said Hobbes matter-of-factly.

"What!" shouted John. "Fuck! We gotta evacuate the area, **now! **The virus spreads far too quickly; we have to get everyone out –"

"Can't, I'm afraid," interrupted Hobbes with a grimace. "They're all cooped up in their houses, won't even open their doors. And if we force the doors open they'll blow our fuckin' brains out of our heads. Not a surprise, they've had a rough history."

_Damn it! Raccoon City is falling to the virus and our only hope of saving the others is fucked! We gotta do something ... I gotta talk to Steve._

John hurried over to Steve who, sure enough, was sleeping against the hood of an old police car, his eyes squeezed shut. John nudged him gently, and his eyes popped open. His hand shot toward his pistol, but he saw who it was a second later, and said "John, thank god! Where the fuck have you been? I thought you might have been dead!"

"Dead! The virus hasn't even hit this area yet. Somehow it traveled up north despite the fact that it originated here."

"What? How do you know that?" spluttered Steve, looking at John with an eyebrow cocked. John froze. He remembered now that Claire and himself were the only two people alive who knew how the virus had broken out. He rushed to make up a quick white lie.

"I don't! I'm just assuming it. The accident a few days ago I connected with the virus, he was Claire's boss and he looked a little sick before he crashed. Maybe the virus made him crash, who knows."

"Aye," he replied, and John was relieved to see that he swallowed the lie. Claire gave his arm an extra squeeze to let him know that she knew what he had done. "We've been here too fuckin' long! I want to go home, not stay out on the street where I could catch the virus."

"Well if it makes you any better, I think we can stay out here with you until the RCPD calms the fuck down," answered John. He looked over at Claire, and she nodded in agreement. They sat down next to him, and were asleep in mere minutes.

It was almost a half hour later that John's eyes sprang open, drenched in cold sweat. Every fiber of his being was thrilled and vibrating. A terrible premonition gripped him as he saw all of the police around him on top of the barricade cars with their machine guns and pistols drawn. He jostled Claire and Steve, and they awoke with sharp gasps.

"Get your guns out, now!" ordered John, drawing out one of the pistols he had brought with him and flipping the safety switch off. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Claire and John do the same thing, shooting looks of worry at each other.

John dashed quickly over to the nearest car, took a running leap onto the hood, and tapped the shoulder of Chief Hobbes. The large man turned and stared at him with hardened features, his face set into a solid grimace.

"What's going on, chief?" asked John.

"Civilians, it looks like. They're headed this way. Here, take the binoculars, see for yourself."

John seized the binoculars that Hobbes handed him, and pressed them to his eyes, staring through the darkness ahead of them. For a few seconds, he saw nothing but a dark, abandoned road stretching as far as he could see into the night.

Then he saw a flicker of movement. He froze, fear jostling his heart roughly. Goosebumps rose on his arms and legs, contrary to the now cold night around them.

First an arm … then a leg. Then several more arms and legs. Heads began to become clear, as well … with taut, white skin dripping with congealed blood. There were varying wounds on all of the people. Some were missing arms and legs, hopping on mere stumps. Many were missing eyeballs as well. Blood caked their ghastly white skin. They lumbered steadily toward the barricade with a disconcerting air of determinedness. As John watched the numbers grow quickly, as the army continued on, as his horror rose, only one word leapt into his mind, one thing that could describe terror that now lumbered toward them, their numbers increasing by hundreds every second …

_Zombies. _

He passed the binoculars back to Hobbes, his hands shaky. Raccoon City was doomed …

"Hey, John!" shouted Steve's voice, as if from far away, and he turned to see both he and Claire running over to him. Claire hopped up beside him, and grabbed his arm, whispering in his ear, "what's happening?"

Steve jumped up between him and Hobbes, and repeated the question. John simply replied in a voice equivalent this shaking hand, with just the one word that had jumped into his head. "Zombies."

Steve gaped at him, as though hoping he was playing some sort of sick joke.

"Zombies?" laughed Hobbes beside him, which surprised all three of them, for after the realization that zombies were now on the hunt for their flesh, they were slightly curious as to how anyone could laugh, "those aren't zombies. Zombies were wiped out years ago, with the v––"

Realization seemed to strike the chief, as he saw the destroyed and tattered bodies walking toward the barrier. His eyes grew twice as huge, and his gun suddenly began to shake in his grip.

"The virus …" he whispered. "Th––this is the virus?"

"Afraid so, chief," muttered Steve. "And we're caught right in the middle of it."

Evidently horrorstruck, Hobbes seized his radio, and called every single barricade simultaneously, shouting the same words for each. "FIRE AT THE SHITS! SHOOT THE FUCKERS!"

As this command rattled through the street, the police all around them raised their weapons, lining up the shots expertly, and fired off. Muzzle flashes lit up the streets and the tapping of gunfire echoed everywhere, filling up the sound so that no voices could be heard. John, Claire and Steve saw the zombies, who were now only twenty feet away from the barricade, jerk as the bullets hit them, but they did not slow their pace. They persisted onward, their moans clear even over the roar of the guns. Hobbes fired with his gun as well, which made them all jump as the sharp sound erupted so close to their ears.

"What the fuck are you doing! Shoot!" yelled Hobbes to them, and he fired several more rounds out at the crowd.

Still not a single zombie fell. Bloody streaks shot into the air when bullets hit them in the chests and shoulders, guts spilled out when too many bullets hit their stomachs, but none stopped and gave any sign of pain. They were now only ten feet away from the cars, their moans now louder than ever, their bloody faces upturned, looking hungrily at the RCPD …

Claire suddenly lifted her gun, and let the gun roar. _Boom._

The miniature missile struck the closest zombie, who looked to have once been a middle aged, dark haired woman, but now her hair was matted down, most of it missing, strings of it hanging over her gaunt face, in the head. Bloody brains and chunks of her head exploded out the back, and she toppled to the ground, screeching. Then she went silent.

John and Steve stared at the corpse. Hobbes hadn't noticed. He was furiously jamming a fresh clip into his gun. Then, without waiting for the chief to see this, Steve shouted "THE HEADS! SHOOT 'EM IN THE HEAD!"

This cry went out to everyone, it seemed. They all seemingly as one lifted their weapons slightly, and shot faster and faster. Now several corpses flew backwards, screeching in pain. Blood and entrails flew everywhere, splattering the ground, walls and cars with the gory mess. But still, the army was hardly deterred. It quickly reached the barrack, and began swiping desperately at the feet of the cops. They were the first to be blown open by the guns. Claire, Steve and John shot whenever a head appeared near them, pumping a single round into each one, making sure not to waste ammo. They would need it. The crowd of undead stretched for as far as they could see … women, men, and children alike, all inhabitants of Raccoon City now twisted by the terrible, disgusting design of the virus.

More moans punctuated the night, even over the now steady hail of gunfire. Looking left and right, the new recruit –– Tony –– saw a group of about ten zombies placing their rotted, decaying hands under one of the police cars. They seemed to be straining, trying to do something to it …

_They're tipping it over!_ He thought, alarmed. Rushing forward to the end of the car he crouched on, he set his pistol in its holster and drew out his pump action shotgun, firing it as high as he could. Several undead toppled to the ground with the tendons of their necks flapping uselessly in the air, but still more undead joined the group, and the car began to rock slowly as they worked at it from underneath.

A cold icy grip encased Tony's ankle. He let out a scream of fear, and without thinking, without pausing to consider his options, he kicked out hard at whatever was holding him, a split second before he looked at it.

The zombies head crushed inward when his foot made contact with its destroyed nose and face. Both its eyeballs were hanging by the optic nerve from their sockets, which were still oozing a steady stream of blood. Half its face was rent open by what must have been the claws of another zombie. He could see through it … could see its pumping, shriveled brain …

"AAH!" bellowed Tony, and brought the shotgun barrel down right in front of its destroyed face. It leered at him for a second, then he pulled the trigger … and it exploded into crimson, showering him in bloody brains. The hand let go of him as the zombie flew backward, detaching itself from its own legs, which simply stood there, alone, the bones broken off just below the kneecap. He was so startled by this release, that he slid forward and toppled off the car, right onto the ground in front of the crowd of zombies.

He scrambled to his feet, yelling out a war cry, and let the shotgun roar into the crowd whenever one tried to approach him, pumping the trigger as fast as he could. Gory meat was tossed everywhere, becoming increasingly disgusting by the second as bullet after bullet rammed hard into the undead around him.

Then he tried to pull the trigger again at an approaching zombie … but it simply clicked. _Fucking useless gun! Always out of goddamn bullets when I need them!_

Yelling in fear, he launched himself backward, over the roof of the car, but another hand seized his ankle, and began dragging him backwards. Tony raced to find a grip on anything, but found none. As he was dragged backward, his mind zipped into overdrive. His only chance to live … he had to live …

His hand automatically flew down to his still loaded pistol, and he aimed it wildly behind him, and fired. Once. Twice. Three times he shot whatever was holding him. The grip loosened slightly, and he wriggled out of it, sliding across the car, and down onto the road on the other side of the barricade. Shivering with fear and anxiety, drenched in sweat, he huddled into a ball behind the tire, and sobbed quietly.

John and Steve stood together, holding a pistol in each hand. They stood on one of the many police vans, and were shooting rapid fire. Below them, Claire was shooting just as fast, but with only one pistol. She felt it easier with just one.

Kevin Burns and Rachel Sirel, both close friends of John and Steve, hurried up onto the top of the van with both of them, and Kevin said "they're not stopping, there are too fucking many! We gotta evacuate the streets as fast as we can!"

"Are you fuckin' insane!" shouted John, still firing the pistols at a group of increasingly rabid looking undead, "this is our only chance to defend southern Raccoon City! If we leave now, we're all totally fucked!"

"No shit! We're already fucked as it is!" yelled back Rachel angrily. Both Steve and John looked at her hard, determined face, surrounded by long red hair.

_She's right …_

A sudden screeching sound, louder than anything they had heard so far that terrible night, sounded to their left, along the barracks. This was not the sound of a zombie. Everyone turned to see what had happened.

The car that Tony had been trying to first off defend had finally tipped, and was now crashed open on their side of the street. Zombies were lurching into the street around them, lunging at unprotected cops.

"Now would be a good fucking time to get our asses outta here!" screamed Claire, up to them. Steve and John looked at each other, then gritted their teeth, and nodded.

A group of cops were now all situated on top of the barricade. They were the only one's still left alive. Tony, who had gotten up onto the cars as soon as they tipped over the car, Robin, Taz, Rachel, Kevin, Claire, Steve, John and Chief Hobbes. Nine survivors.

"How the hell do we get outta here now!" shouted Taz over the shouting of the undead below them, and the distant gunfire from the other barricades.

"That alley, over there!" bellowed Hobbes, pointing to the alleyway that Claire and John had first arrived from. "That's the only way out! Come on, jump over them, shoot any who try to get near you!"

The RCPD did not waste any time in questioning their commanding chief. As one, they all made running leaps across the cars, jumped as hard as they could, and landed on the open street, behind the army of zombies, cars, and more zombies. Almost immediately after they landed, the army began lumbering toward them, moaning incoherently, muttering dry, crackled words.

"Go! Go! Go!" urged Robin, and they took off as fast as they could across the street, all seemingly close together, shooting the heads of the zombies who came close. They soon were sprinting down the dark alleyway together, but their guns were still in their hands, ready to fire at whatever came at them.

When the alley opened up, they found themselves on a quiet, unknown street. All was dark and silent. They were surrounded by apparently abandoned houses.

"I think this is Charles Blvd," offered Taz.

"I think you're right," responded Hobbes. "If you're right, then we have to go as far south of here as possible and gather as many surviving recruits as we can. Those fuckers have taken over everything north of here. So south would be down Schaller Avenue over there. Come on, lets go."

The nine men and women started off. Dark figures behind them began emerging, not making any sounds, but lumbering on jellied flesh, their eyes, or no eyes, fixed on the running backs. Their destroyed minds only had one thing set and craving: _Flesh._

However, even as more began appearing, they only lumbered, and never caught up to the group, as they continued to move down Schaller, and out of sight.


End file.
